


Tempted

by WorseOmens



Series: Crowley, Aziraphale & Family Short Stories [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cravings, Crowley is an ideal provider, Fluff, Forbidden Fruit, Grumpy Angel, Humour, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), serpent of Eden, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: Aziraphale’s pregnancy cravings aren’t quite the same as human ones, and he knows exactly who’s to blame.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Crowley, Aziraphale & Family Short Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806880
Comments: 30
Kudos: 392





	Tempted

Aziraphale knew from the moment he discovered his pregnancy that he would have to go without a few things. Alcohol was the most obvious example. He’d always been able to indulge, and now it was completely off-limits. Crowley had stopped drinking in solidarity and moved all the wine out of the bookshop, to ease the temptation. Aziraphale had admitted several times that he had the most terrible craving for it. Wine, and — oddly — apple cider, especially. 

Soon enough, it faded, but other cravings sprang up to take its place. He stared through pastry-shop windows at the fruit tarts and yet, when he bought one, it just didn’t hit the spot like he’d expected. It was rather frustrating. He felt the same tug of want while he and Crowley ate together in the British Museum Cafe, and he noticed the luscious red cherry on top of Crowley’s cake. 

Crowley looked up from his coffee and smiled. “You can have it, angel,” he said, nudging the plate at him. As soon as he did, the craving flickered and died. 

With a huff, Aziraphale shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said. He just didn’t understand it. Why was his appetite so changeable?

“You sure?” he said with a frown. “You were eyeing it up a second ago.”

“Yes, but... oh, blast it, I may as well tell you,” he said, crossing his arms over the arch of his belly. “I’ve seen all sorts of scrumptious things recently — strawberry tarts, apple strudel, blackberry jam — but the moment I get my hands on them, I don’t seem to want them anymore.”

“Huh. That’s weird,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Might go away eventually. You don’t crave wine anymore, right?”

“Well, no,” he said, and sighed. His eyes drifted, spotting a fruit bowl on the windowsill. “Hm... I don’t suppose anyone would mind if I pinched something from that bowl there, do you?”

Crowley looked, and squinted. “I think that’s plastic fruit.”

He pouted. “Typical.”

The demon looked at him. Something about his choice of words just then — about stealing from the bowl — set cogs turning in his head. He put down his cup, and pointed to the counter. “Look at that cornucopia over there,” he said. It was an art installation near the entrance, in honour of the harvest festival and local artists or some such, with a clear DISPLAY ONLY — DO NOT TOUCH sign. “Nice, innit?”

Aziraphale squirmed. “Very,” he said, eyeing the fruits spilling from the horn with ravenous appetite. 

Crowley stared at him for a moment. That seemed to confirm his first thought. “Angel... I think I know why you can’t seem to satisfy your cravings,” he said, drawing his attention back. 

“Do tell, because I can’t made head nor tail of it,” he said grumpily, shooting another hungry glance at the cornucopia.

“You’re craving forbidden fruit,” he said, raising his coffee cup back to his lips. 

He spluttered and gasped. “Wh — What? I beg your pardon!”

“Think about it,” he said, sitting up. “You only want the fruit pastries _before_ you buy them, when they aren’t actually yours. You want wine, and cider, and... plastic fruit, apparently.”

“Preposterous,” he said, stubbornly turning his nose up at the idea. 

“You literally want fruit with a don’t-touch sign on it,” he said flatly, jerking his head toward the cornucopia.

His nose wrinkled. “Well — Well, I never,” he said, his defences crumbling. He looked down at his swollen belly, then back at Crowley with a scandalised expression. “Then this is _your_ demonic work!”

He winked. “Thought we’d been over that bit already.”

“Not that, you scoundrel,” he said with a blush, recalling the night when he actually had to explain that yes, Crowley, sex does indeed cause pregnancy. “This fruit debacle. I had nothing to do with the temptation, so it must be your influence.”

He nodded. “Point taken,” he said, a little guiltily, though he was already putting a cunning plan together. He looked down at the cherry on his cake, still sat in the middle of the table. “That cherry’s mine, by the way. You can’t have it.”

“Charming,” Aziraphale huffed, before looking over and seeing the mischievous smile on his lips. “Oh.”

Crowley made a show of turning around in his seat, looking at the art hanging on the far wall. With a helplessly fond smile, Aziraphale reached across and took the cherry while he wasn’t looking. He bit into it, and sagged against his chair with a long, contented hum. It hit the spot _perfectly._

It became habit, for Crowley to walk into the shop with a bowl of fruit, loudly announce that it was off-limits, then promptly leave it unattended. Aziraphale had never been more in love. Day-to-day, his cravings were kept under control, and he could put his feet up the rest of the time. They were getting a little sore now, carrying so much extra weight. 

He puttered around the shop, braving his aching feet to re-shelve some books. He passed the open window, and stopped short. A scent blew in from outside, sweet and spiced and mouth-watering... His eyes darted across the street, spotting the apple pie which had been left on a windowsill to cool. His mouth watered. It definitely wasn’t his, and it looked so very tempting, with a golden-brown lattice crust showcasing the hot apple filling. He sucked in a deep breath, turned heel, and hurried to the back. He really ought to stop looking. It didn’t belong to him.

He did everything he needed to do. He dusted the shelves, and... and he dusted them again, and then a third time, until he realised he’d dusted his way back to the open window in the shop. The pie was still there. He swallowed hard. 

The bell rang, startling him. “Hey, angel,” Crowley said, then paused as he noticed where he was stood. “Uh... is something interesting going on out there?”

“No. Nothing,” he said, a bit too forcefully. He gripped his feather duster with both hands. “What would be going on?”

He frowned. “Dunno,” he said. “Are you alright? Hormones again?”

“Possibly. Probably. Yes,” he said, throwing down the duster and disappearing behind a shelf. A few seconds later, he peeked back around the corner, finding Crowley still there, arms crossed and brow arched. “... or not.”

Crowley nodded. “What’s wrong, Aziraphale?”

He hummed, edging out of the shelves. “Apple pie. Over there,” he said, with a guilty look out the window again.

Crowley leaned over, spotting it on the windowsill, placed oh-so-carelessly where any pedestrian could swipe it. “Hm. Yeah, that’s a classic temptation,” he said with a long whistle. “Ground level window, busy street, completely unattended... Humans these days. It’s almost like they trust one another. They know they live in Soho, don’t they?”

He pursed his lips, looked down at his baby bump in frustration. Crowley wasn’t making things any better, but then again, this was his specialism. Tempting; especially fruit of this nature. He was right, though... The human had been very careless. They were just asking to be burgled, and it would do no harm, really. Besides, that particular neighbour was terribly rude, and he’d tried to report Aziraphale for tax evasion multiple times. He had one of Aziraphale’s coveted lifetime bans from the bookshop, which the angel gleefully kept a meticulous list of. That settled it, really. It wasn’t like he could come in here and accuse him of anything.

He turned to Crowley. “Steal it.” 

Crowley did a double take. “What?” he said, eyes widening under his glasses in pure, unadulterated admiration. It was like he’d given away his flaming sword all over again.

“Steal it for me,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s because of you that I want these — these forbidden fruits so desperately, so — so it’s not my fault, really... Is it?” 

Crowley came closer, tilting his chin up to face him. His eyes held a worry, a guilt, that he’d seen many times before. “Not at all. You’re an angel, remember?” he said, resting his forehead against his. “You’re the nice one.”

“Ah... yes, of course,” he said with a shy smile. Crowley always knew what to say to chase away his anxieties about these things; sometimes he wondered if it was just the sound of his voice that soothed him, rather than what he actually said. “And... and the pie?”

He grinned. “Aziraphale, it would be my genuine pleasure to steal that for you.” 


End file.
